


Under The Sea

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Series: Carry On Countdown 2017 [14]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: But with a happy ending, Carry On Countdown, M/M, The Little Mermaid AU, baz is ariel, seafoam not the disney version
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: This is the Snowbaz Little Mermaid AU no one wanted. This is the SEAFOAM version of the story, NOT the Disney one. But there will be a happy ending, because I'm trash. Written for Day 14 of the Countdown: Disney/Fairy tale retelling.





	Under The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a quick little oneshot and quickly got out of hand... I will have the second half up sometime, hopefully soon, realistically probably in January. In this work I elected to cut out the whole bit about the little mermaid wanting an immortal soul because this fic is not a Catholicism metaphor.

Far out in the middle of the ocean, where the water is so blue it seems almost otherworldly, and the waves seem to stretch into infinity, a kingdom lies under the surface. Deep underwater dwell the merfolk, ruled by the Sea King. The lands of the Sea King are vast and beautiful, like nothing ever seen above water. Currents of salt water flow instead of winds. The buildings are made of bright coral and fine shells, each more lovely than the last. The palace is surrounded by gardens of waving sea-flowers in red, purple, and yellow. All manner of fish come and go as they please, their shimmering scales ornaments in the water.

In this kingdom under the sea, the Sea King ruled with absolute authority. He and his council refused to allow any subject to view the world above the surface, for its unclean and corrupt atmosphere would taint any who witnessed it. They saw shadows of ships passing overhead and shuddered to be near them. When a ship sank, a steady rain of broken, useless artifacts showered down, and it proved the Sea King right: the humans were careless and dangerous.

Basilton, the oldest son of the sea king, was as different from his father as possible. Where the Sea King was pale and heavyset, Basilton was dark and sharp, his tail glimmering a thousand different colors. Throughout the kingdom, he was regarded as the most beautiful. His father waited impatiently for him to come of age, that he could marry the daughter of one of his advisors. 

While his father was impatient, Basilton felt he could wait his entire life. He knew the mermaid he was to marry, and he did not love her. (He could not love her, though he would never tell the Sea King that.) He preferred books and learning to social interaction. The King had long been concerned, for his son spent more time in the archives than with his family. Basilton’s second great love was the gardens. Often, he could be found swimming through the paths, admiring each plant, the colors of its blossoms, the way it swayed in the current.

When he was not in the archives or the garden, Basilton practiced his violin. The Sea King detested the existence of the violin, as it had sunk from a ship, and artifacts of the human world were forbidden. But even he agreed that the music Basilton could make with his instrument was unlike anything he had ever heard, and so it remained. 

But none of these things presented the greatest divide between the Sea King and his prince. The issue of humans had quickly filled that position. Basilton alone knew that the human world had only become taboo after a beam of a wrecked vessel had struck his mother, killing her. He was angry, but wished to learn more about the humans, the things that had taken his mother from him. His friends thought him mad when he told them, for no one would dare think of the world above the surface. Why would they, when they had everything they could want or need under the sea?

The night he turned sixteen, Basilton could take it no longer. Under the wavering, diluted light of the moon, he swam out of the palace, through the many layers of water up to the surface. At first, he kept his eyes tightly closed, afraid that the air would burn them after so long accustomed to salt. When he opened them, they stung, but not for that reason. Though seasons are meaningless under the sea, above the water it was the middle of winter, and the freezing wind blew into Basilton’s eyes, forcing them to tear up. 

Through the thin haze of tears, Basilton regarded the world above the water for the first time. It was beautiful. Sheets of ice twinkled under the starlight as they brushed past each other. The sky was the darkest blue imaginable, almost black, mostly covered by patchy gray clouds. The moon shone, heavy and yellow, providing only slight illumination. As far as he could see in any direction, the midnight blue waves and the shining white ice ran uninterrupted. Until the first pink streaks of the sun began to rise, Basilton swam above the surface, marveling at this world he had never known.

When he returned home that morning, exhausted but exhilarated, Basilton found that he could not stop thinking of the world above the sea. He searched the archives for information, but the Sea King had destroyed all records almost ten years ago, the day his love died. Basilton spent most of his time lost in his head, dreaming and remembering that world. That beautiful, wonderful, forbidden world.

For months, Basilton was forced to remain underwater, unable to even tell anyone of the wonders he had witnessed. His friends grew concerned, as he no longer wished to join them to play foolish pranks on the other children. Basilton still played his violin at the Sea King’s balls, though now the music seemed full of life in a strange, new way. For when he played, he recalled the joy of the world above the waves. He poured his love for that world into his music, and he played better than ever before. No one could understand it; his music became more lively when he himself became a recluse.

The next time Basilton was able to visit the world above, summer had arrived. Night had fallen, as he must wait until dark to sneak away from the palace, and the warm air blew lightly across his skin. The icebergs were gone, replaced by smooth seas. Where before there had been clouds, now the sky was filled with millions of shining stars. The moon was a slim crescent hanging high above, and for a moment, Basilton felt as though that was all that existed in the world: him, the moon, and the stars. 

A loud _bang_ pierced the air. Basilton frantically looked to find the source of the startling noise. On the horizon, sailing toward him, was a ship. Above the ship, large bursts of color illuminated the sky. Golden flares, purple and green starbursts, and shimmering smoke cast a spotlight on the ship as it sailed ever closer. Basilton was relieved; the noise hadn’t been some sort of cannon blast, it was merely fireworks from a celebration.

The ship came close enough that Basilton could make out the forms of each sailor on deck. They walked around on those odd contraptions they called legs. Basilton had never seen a human before, and so the people on the boat struck him as both fundamentally wrong and the most interesting thing he had ever seen. None of them had a shining tail, as he did, but they did not seem to need one.

Looking closer, most of the people on the deck were not sailors, as he had assumed, but partygoers, dressed in elaborately fashioned gowns and suits that were horrifically impractical to wear, especially near the salt spray of the waves. On the highest deck stood the center of attention: a human prince. Though Basilton did not know it, that night was the celebration of the prince’s sixteenth birthday.

The prince was not especially tall, and he was not the best-looking person on the boat. But where the other partygoers had covered themselves in makeup and other contraptions to make them beautiful, thus concealing their true face, the prince had done nothing of the sort. He displayed exactly who he was: so beautiful and so _alive_. His curls, the color of the sand on the ocean floor, bounced lightheartedly. His smile was bright enough that Basilton thought even in the darkest place, it would light up the room. Then he cursed himself for having such strange thoughts about this human prince.

As the night went on, thick, dark clouds rolled in, covering up the stars. The wind picked up, now bitter and hostile. The formerly calm waves grew until they climbed the side of the prince’s vessel. A storm was brewing. The guests at the party did not seem to notice the inclement weather until the clouds broke. Rain poured in sheets, so heavy that Basilton could barely see the ship mere feet in front of him. In the dark, the boards of the ship creaked and groaned, though the noise was almost drowned out by the raging storm. A resounding _crack_ cut through the wind: the mast had broken off, and the sharp beam toppled into the deep. Afterwards, there was nothing the sailors could do to save the ship. The storm ripped it apart, piece by piece, leaving nothing but a collection of boards floating about the waves. The party guests clung to the remnants of the ship, their elaborate costumes weighing them down. 

Try as he might, Basilton could not spot the prince anywhere among the wreckage. For a moment, the thought that the prince might be visiting the kingdom at the bottom of the sea flashed across his mind, before he realized that the prince, as a human, would die there. Someone so alive couldn’t die; he wouldn’t let him. He dove below the storm-tossed surface, but even here, spears of wood showered down, threatening to impale any below the surface. Distantly, Basilton spotted the shine of the prince’s golden hair, visible even through the murk. Weaving through the treacherous waters, he swam as fast as he could, catching the prince and lifting him out. They floated above the surface, the merman supporting the unconscious prince, until the shore became visible on the horizon. 

The land grew closer, thick trees surrounding what appeared to be a school, with long, low buildings and tall windows obscured by the night. Basilton rested the prince on a small, sandy beach, free from the grip of the water, and waited, hidden from view in the sea. After dawn broke, or at least once the deep gray began to lighten, a crowd of children spotted the prince. As they surrounded him, the prince began to wake. Confident that he would be safe, Basilton slipped back into the waves.

Though he had been out all night, and he knew the Sea King would punish him, all Basilton could think of was the prince. The threat of his father discovering his trips to the surface faded into the background beside the events of that night. The human celebration had been spectacular, a joy of light and life. He had never agreed with his father that the humans were evil creatures, and now he knew himself to be correct. They lived just as the merfolk did, simply on the land instead of at the bottom of the sea. And their prince was magnificent. Basilton wished he had been able to watch the prince for longer; his life and energy shone, rendering him even more beautiful. Though, Basilton mused, he was already handsome.

If he had been distracted after his previous trip to the surface, he now became doubly so. Silence would bring him memories of the laughter of the partygoers, and solitude brought him the prince’s smile. Basilton’s friends could think of no reason for him to stare into the distance and smile, a condition that now often afflicted the prince of the merfolk. He could not tell anyone about the beautiful prince, about the light he saw in the world above that he could not find under the sea. 

Unbeknownst to anyone, Basilton began to visit the human world as often as he could. At first he returned to the beach where he had left the prince, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But as time wore on and the leaves on the trees began to flame orange, he realized that he would never see him there. Basilton began to swim to a different beach every time he surfaced, slowly canvassing a wide area of the land. It was not until the ice had frozen the ocean and melted again that he found the prince. He swam up a river to a castle made of gold and stone that shone under the light of the moon. The river poured into a narrow channel that encircled the building, dainty bridges arcing above the band of water.

On the nearest bridge stood the prince. He was taller now, though still not incredibly tall. His blue eyes were no longer alight with joy; he stared down into the water, the pensive picture of melancholy. Basilton wanted to know what was wrong, he wanted to comfort him. But he knew that he must never reveal himself to the prince, as the humans had no idea that the land under the sea was peopled. He also knew that there were some kinds of sorrow that needed solitude, and he did not know the prince well enough to be able to read if this was one of them. He was struck by the sudden realization that he would like to. The prince was someone, and he wanted to know his name and to be there for him. He wanted to learn him.

Once he knew where to look, Basilton returned to the castle most nights. It was a long swim, and he was never able to stay for more than an hour or two. He told himself he only went to learn more of the human world, to fill his brain with all the knowledge that had been lost to the merfolk. The lie didn’t even fool himself. He did want to learn, but the desire to see the prince matched it. Though he was but an observer of the castle, he felt more complete above the water than he ever had below it. Days spent in the palace of the Sea King grated on him more and more. His aunt and the other nobles took notice, but he couldn’t help it. Once he’d had the first taste of that other life, the more he craved it.

When it came time for the grand ball, Basilton was asked to play his violin. Basilton had performed at the grand ball for the last several years, but this year was different. The palace was decorated in shimmering, opalescent shells, with bright coral ornaments. The music drifted through the ears of the attendees, who danced and danced. The ball promised to last all night. When it came time for Basilton to perform, a hush fell over the audience. He put the bow to the strings, and the music he played lifted the listeners out of their bodies and showed them the happiest moment of their lives. He finished playing, lifted his bow, and the audience returned, many of them struck speechless by the sheer beauty of the music. It was the best he had ever played, and the applause that filled his ears brought him, too back to where he was. For a moment, he was so happy he felt weightless. But the feeling quickly faded, and he was left empty. He danced and pretended to enjoy himself at the ball for hours, while in reality consumed with thoughts of the world above. Eventually, he couldn’t bear it.

Basilton swam away from the false laughs and the merry music of the ball. He swam away, and the flowers and colorful plants faded to barren sand. The color leached out of the ground the farther he traveled, the closer he came to the Sea Witch. 

Long ago banned from the palace, the Sea Witch lived in a forest of kelp. The slimy tendrils reached for the sun, only to fall short. Bulbous yellow pods protruded from the gray-green stems that seemed to reach for any intruder into their home. Surrounding the forest, the ground gave way to a bubbling quagmire. Basilton swam as fast as he could along the path, for he knew that if he were to stray even an inch, the kelp, which seemed alive with some sort of malevolent consciousness, would snare him.

Eventually, Basilton arrived at a dismal clearing in the kelp. In the clearing was a ramshackle house that held together out of sheer spite for those that would say it could not. In front of the house swam a figure so repulsive that Basilton questioned for a moment his plan. The Sea Witch was gray as death, enormously fat, with empty eyes. Around her swam colorless eels, she let them drape over her shoulders and feed out of her hand.

Determined, Basilton swam into the clearing. 

“I know what you want,” said the Sea Witch. “You want to learn of the world above. You want to travel there, to be there. It consumes you.”

“Will you help me?”

“I shall, though this errand of yours is nothing short of foolish. You could have anything you wish here, without giving up your life.”

The prince’s face flashed behind Basilton’s eyes, and he shook his head to clear it. “How may I walk on the land?”

The Sea Witch leveled her gaze on him. “This is no guarantee he will love you.” She laughed, a sound that indicated not so much joy as a delight in the suffering of others. “I know things. I have my ways.”

“How,” Basilton repeated, voice strong, “may I walk on the land?”

“I will prepare a potion for you. Before sunrise tomorrow, you must swim to shore, sit out of the water, and drink it. Your tail will vanish, replaced by two legs. But I must warn you, every step you take will feel as though you walk on shards of glass.”

“I can bear it.”

“From you,” she continued, “I require payment. You are famed as a violinist; I request your skill. Hereafter, when you play, you will sound as untrained as a child.”

Basilton swallowed hard. The violin was what he’d had for years. All his skill, his being was wrapped up in his music. He nodded. He’d made his choice before he entered the clearing.

“There are conditions, however,” the Sea Witch cautioned. “Once you drink the potion, your tail will be gone forever. You will have the short life of a human. The potion is tied to love; you must win the heart of the prince you seek. You must win him without your skill at the violin, and without revealing to him anything about merfolk. Were he to marry another, or learn of our existence, the potion should fail and you should die, and turn to foam on the waves as do the merfolk. Are you prepared?”

The Witch touched Basilton’s hand, and he saw his talent leave him, sucked into a pearl the Witch held. She placed her cauldron on a magic fire, burning rich blue. She pricked her finger, dripped the blood into the cauldron, then set about making the potion. Steam rose in terrifying images, and the sound of its boiling was pure misery, but when the potion had finished, it appeared as clear water. 

“Here,” said the Sea Witch, handing a vial of the potion to Basilton. “But remember, it must be used by sunrise, and you must win his heart.”

Basilton thanked her and swam off through the kelp, holding the potion close to protect it from the grasping arms of the forest. He swam until he reached the castle, where he pulled himself up on the bank of the water. The first signs of light peered over the horizon, so he hastily uncapped the potion. As he drank, he remembered everything about the palace of the Sea King. The secrets, the emptiness, the hiding, but also the moments of happiness. When the bottle was finished, darkness crept across Basilton’s vision and he slipped into an enchanted sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos really do make my day. Even constructive criticism.


End file.
